


WIGGLE

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Mech/Mech, Out of Character, Shy Dominant, Sleazy Naiveté, Squeaker Content, Warped Reality (AU), mentor/apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Pharma's wings do a dance that Ratchet shamelessly enjoys even if he is bound to a chair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I should be ashamed of myself, but luckily I'm not so you get more porn with Pharma semi-leading this time. Rothinsel was the original concept of sleazyRatchet/naivePharma; I'm just the moron who has developed a fondness for it.

Ratchet leans back and eyes the little flyer whose wings dip demurely under that steady gaze. The stretching of tight cables around his wrists and arms not distracting him from raking his gaze across those wiggling wings. His smile is slow and dirty as the flyer tenses with a huff, smacking a wire whip sharply against a blue thigh to regain the pervert's wandering attentions back to the optics.

Pharma tries not to wince and rubs at the scratch on his thigh from where he had smacked himself in irritation. He would not allow his old mentor to have his way this time. _ That's right, Ratchet, time to make you mewl for a change! _ The flyer squares his shoulders and levels an even gaze at the older medic laid out for his pleasure for a change. A firm strength filters through his emotional circuits a moment before the hiss of pressurizing spike draws his optics to Ratchet's lap.

The flyer stiffens and swings his gaze to the side away from the tempting sight. Ratchet at complete ease in his bonds chuckles when his former apprentice licks at a small trail of oral lubricant that has escaped the corner of his mouth. The older medic's gaze travels down that tensing, huffy frame. The soft shuff of a valve cover opening draws his optics to the vee of Pharma's thighs. The trails of dribbling lubricant shining enticingly against waxed blue thighs. Ratchet's own valve cover snicks quietly aside as Pharma ignores his mentor in favor of trying to regain his control. Unable to touch himself, Ratchet moves his open valve against the mesh cushion beneath him. He slits his optics but remains fuzzily focused on the tantalizing sight Pharma makes in front of him.

The ambulance huffs quietly in irritation as the soft and yielding material of the mesh only acts it deepen the frustration in his empty valve. He circles his hips and presses down as firmly as he can to help amp up the charge that is trying to dance in his anterior node. His smile is slow and dirty when Pharma glances at him because of the soft slurping sounds of valve walls hitting each other reach the flyer's audios.

Pharma cocks his head back and stomps forward. He brings his ped up and slams it into place between Ratchet's moving hips and the cushion. He jerks his head sharply once at the surprised invent and widening optics from Ratchet. The older medic's optical ridges racing to the edge of his helm. The ambulance's engine gives a deep rumble of pleasure as the flyer leans forward and grasps the back of Ratchet's helm and jerks it to garner his full attention.

"Who told you were allowed to start fucking yourself, pet?" Pharma keeps the timber of his vocalizer low and threatening as he narrows his optics.  _ I-I-I've got to think of Ratchet as the sub,  _ he stutters to himself even as he puts his knee to the older medic's chest and shoves him backward into the chair. "Now stay put and do as you are told." His voice is firm and only slightly wavering as he brings the whip up to tap Ratchet's shoulder.

When a shiver passes quickly over the grounder's frame, Pharma sets a hand on his hip and draws back. He keeps a close watch on the stillness of Ratchet's frame as he withdraws his ped away from between Ratchet's thighs. The young medic carefully balances himself and draws the lubricant covered ped up over Ratchet's vibrating chest to rest against the grounder's chin. Pharma shifts slightly to steady himself and rest the frontal tip of the ped against Ratchet's slightly parted lips.

"Now clean up your mess so we-we can start."

A slow smile starts to cross over the grounder's face before the sharp tick of the metal whip is brought to bear against his shoulder in a warning swat. "You are not to smile. Use those lips with the glossa to clean up your mess." Blue optics narrow at the first flick of a glossa against a red ped.

Critical optics track the path of the glossa and accompanying lips through the smears of lubricant. Pharma's wings begin to wiggle and flex with each press of the gossa against metal on his ped. Ratchet's optics focus in on that pleasing dance though out of a lateral sensor so his main target sensor remains on Pharma's optics which as softened under the laving treatment of Ratchet's glossa. The grounder's chest vibrates with a rolling purr of invitation as the ped tip is sucked into the oral cavity.  The flyer's wings hitch high to offer a more stabilized position.

"G-good."

The tip of a glossa peeks out to tease at nervous lips. The cleaned ped is drawn slowly away from a stilling mouth with a sloppy pop. Ratchet lowers his chin and glances up at Pharma out from under his optical ridges. His glossa swipes over the remaining lubricants clinging to his lips. The rumble in Ratchet's engine lowers so a tinkling thrum as he awaits is next instruction. The grounder's spike is still pressurized and beginning to leak transfluid that streaks tantalizing over the surface metal to dribble into the growing puddle of valve lubricants painted over the mesh cushion. Ratchet shivers as his own transfluid startles a jumping spark in his anterior node. The shiver passes through his plating which clatters against the chair and his bounds tinkle with the small jerking motions.

The younger medic notices the small aborted jerks and turns to the side considering his former mentor. He sucks a blue finger into his mouth as he watches Ratchet's internal struggle to master his rising charge from the corner sensor in his optical range. He moves the digit in and out of his mouth, licking at it with each pass of entrance and exit it makes. When Ratchet has stilled himself enough to give Pharma his full focus again, the flyer shutters his optics in soft shyness that tickles his circuits from the lust he feels edging into his EM field and raging through Ratchet's own field like prickly fingers of a smelted piece of metal.

Pharma draws the glistening digit down over his chest and abdominal plating. He releases the lock he had placed on his spike's housing cover when his valve cover had slide automatically aside at the sight of Ratchet's pressurized and waiting cord. The younger medic fingers along the surface nodes of his own spike and shudders at the tickling fingers. He grips it roughly to stop the charging zap that snaps through the spike threatening to send him into overload. Ratchet growls low in his engine and leans forward in abject interest.

A turbine engine fires and sputters as its firing sequence is brutishly aborted. Pharma hums and turns doe-eyed optics to his former mentor before shuttering them. He draws in heavy vents of air that puff and tease the air in the office with a vibrant steam. Wings wiggle in a sensuous tremble as Pharma regains control of the biting charge enough to look at the grounder frame on display for his pleasure. He whimpers and presses his thighs together in a slow rub when his optics alight on the way Ratchet's hands clench and wrists flex in their binds.

The flyer's spinal strut bows back slightly as a fantasy clouds his higher processor of what the older medic would do to him if he was not bound securely to the chair. He can nearly feel the harsh grate of the wall tiles against his turbine and wings as Ratchet would attempt to pound him through the wall. Pharma's wings jerk high and low as the rumble of his own engine vibrates into them. The clank of shifting metal draws the younger medic's attention fuzzily back on the growling frame before him.

Pharma onlines his vocalizer to command Ratchet into stillness but chokes only on a warbling static when his own exploring hand palms the tip of his spike. White clouds his vision as the overload rockets threw all of his stressing systems. The crescendo of wails and warbles fill the office. Transfluid erupts from the jerking cord and lubricant tracks form in a gush along waxed thighs. The fluid sprays across a heated red and white chest like liquid fire in a marking arch. Pharma's knees impact the floor as he loses control of his motor functions.

The young medic rest in a daze on the floor between spread knees. Several warning pings flash across Pharma's HUD as his systems stutter and click trying to maintain their online status. He hands and arms shake with the passing charge firing through the wired nervous system cables. He smooths both hands along the jumping plates of Ratchet's thighs. He leans his helm back to look at his former mentor when his vision clears of static enough for him to take in the straining frame and pleading look in to the older's optics and to feel the begging lust spiraling through an unstable field.

"R-ratchet," Pharma whispers.

He rises slowly, rubbing his palms along the inside of the ambulance's thighs. He leans forward to press a lingering kiss on a vibrating chest. He spreads his own thighs and slides along one of Ratchet’s legs, rubbing his valve against the steaming metal I a slow slide. He nips along the underside of Ratchet’s chin. The feathered tip of the metal whip wisps against the older medic’s expansive chest, down his abdominal plating to the base of his straining spike. Pharma smiles teasingly against Ratchet’s neck and puffs warm air against the flexing cables there. The runs a line of lubricant over the grounder’s moving thigh. He leans into his former mentor as he tickles the feathered end over and around the sparking cord. Tension draws the red and white frame tight, the edge creeping closer.

Pharma cannot stop the giggle as he nuzzles against a large shoulder, eying Ratchet adoringly when he catches near white optics with his own. His smile is charming when he draws the feathering away from the spike earning him a threatening growl and an aborted whine. Pharma slips the feathered tip between the mesh cushion and the cycling valve. Ratchet jerks and tugs harshly at his bonds as his anterior node is tapped. The whip tickles there for a moment before it enters him gently just enough to stroke his first interior ring of nodes. Pharma brings his wrist to stroke the length of Ratchet’s spike as he torments his mentor’s interior nodes.

“Fall for me, pet,” he whispers into Ratchet’s audio. Pharma draws out the feathered whip end from Ratchet’s valve and thrusts his own fingers into the pouring rivulets. He moves his own valve over a mobile white thigh. Pharma nuzzles his facial derma against Ratchet’s. “Please,” he pleads without thinking, “fall and cry for me, love.”

Ratchet is struck deep into the core of his spark and does as Pharma pleads. He falls and goes willingly. Pharma is quick to flow after and pressing a longing kiss to a gasping mouth, consuming the vented static warbles. A pleased calm settles deep in the flyer’s spark.


End file.
